Ah Memories
by DarkmoonSigel
Summary: A FACE family series No romantic pairings. Just a small collection of stories about the blonde family. Very light and full of fluff. First published on DA
1. Chapter 1

Introductions

"You do realized that you are here solely at my own leisure and I will not stand for any of your improper advances or perversions.".

France looked at his neighboring island nation with a long moment of thoughtful expression before giving him a round of mocking applause. "Angleterre, that sounded almost eloquent.", Francis sniffed, "You will note my emphasis on ze word 'almost'. Ze word 'Eloquent' should never be in any sentence to describe you favorably.".

"To hell with you then, frog! I'll send you back across the pond in pieces!", England snapped, drawing his cutlass. He didn't have to put up with this shite. He was a force of nature upon the ocean and a true power now, something to be respected or that the very least feared.

A soft whimper that originated from somewhere around their kneecaps made the pirate king pause though, suddenly remembering the reason why the two old nations were in each other's company in the first place. France and England had both recently acquired 'little brothers' here in the New World, a pair of twins to be exact. Not wanted to repeat mistakes in the past made by themselves and other nations(England's life would be so much easier if he and his kin got along) and at the NA brother's insistence, they were all meeting with each other to visit. England only agreed to it as long as they all met on his side of the border. He didn't trust Francis but in all fairness, he didn't trust anyone. It was a rather short list to begin with and he wasn't even on it half the time.

A small blonde haired child looked up at England from behind France's legs, having taken refuge there. His soft lilac eyes were already ringed white with fear and tearing up. England had forgotten completely about him, the nation admitted freely to himself even as he kept his fighting stance ready and weapon draw. Loss of either would be admitting a defeat of sorts and he would be damned if he was going to do that in front of the snail sucker. The lack of notice and the loss of memory bothered England though who prided himself on his observational skill and keenness of mind. His survival had depended greatly on both in the past. England wondered vaguely to himself if the small nation before him had some sort of spell or magic about him that made him forgettable. He would have to ask his fairies later their thoughts on the matter…if he remembered. Try as he might, England could not find a name for him either, the child nation's name dancing elusively on the tip of his tongue.

"See what you have done? Now poor little Canada is upset.", Francis cooed, inadvertently helping England out with his mental quandary. Canada still refused to let go of the older nation's trousers, clinging to the colorful silk as his life depended on it. "Do not worry yourself, ma petite. I know that Angleterre is frighteningly unsophisticated….."

England grit his teeth but stayed quiet for the sake of the child's calm.

"…and has eyebrows that look like they could eat you but…", Francis continued, arching his own perfectly shaped and quite thin brows pointedly.

"OI!", England could not let that one go. No one insulted the eyebrows especially not over dressed frogs that smelled like stinky cheese. Canada jumped with a frightened squeak at the sharp exclamation, letting go of France to drop down to his knees, gripping tightly at them with tiny shaking hands.

England groaned inwardly as Francis fixed a death glare upon him. He met it with his own evenly enough out of old habit, not giving an inch. As far as England was concerned, France was just as responsible for upsetting Canada as he was, though specifics didn't help matters now that the little one was starting to cry, rocking in place. Francis refrained from comforting him, only because he did not wish to drop his guard around his nemesis. Armed English and unprotected backsides did not bode well for him. That and he was not to be at fault when this little experiment of theirs imploded upon them. It would be just one more thing to hang over England's head, along with his severe lack of culinary skills and unimaginative fashion sense.

England resisted the urge to drag his free hand down the length of his face. Crying never sat well with him, a source of discomfort and intense embarrassment felt for the crier on his part. He believed that emotions like these should be entertained in private though if that had been the case, his own little brother would have never chosen him. Feeling uncomfortably hypocritical, England was also feeling vaguely silly for having his sword drawn still but couldn't think of a way of sheathing it that would look natural.

"Hey, why are you crying?", brightly spoken words made Canada look up and the older nations look over as another small nation joined them. He was obviously Canada's twin, though his hair was a shade more honey with a stubborn cowlick than strawberry with a wayward floating curl and his eyes were an almost painful shade of azure blue, they were so sharp and intense in color, instead of a soothing shade of amethyst. He tromped out of the wood as if he owned them before coming to a stop in front of his huddled brother.

The small child barely spared France a glance of acknowledgement, something that irked the older nation who frowned down at him. England's growing smirk at the insult was the only thing that kept him silent on the matter. Francis soothed himself with thoughts of defeating England and taking America for himself. He would definitely spend time undoing all of England's uncouth influences upon him and teach him some proper manners as well.

America crouched down with his twin, their foreheads touching lightly as his clumsy hands made a mess of wiping away Canada's tears, mostly due to the fact America was covered in dirt, the twigs embedded in his hair further evidence of his rough play in the woods. Both France and England winced at the gesture but for different reasons. France prayed to the god of textiles that America would not touch Canada's pristine gown of snow white silk. Flesh was so much more easy to clean off than the delicate material. England instantly felt exhausted having already seen his immediate future for this evening. It involved giving America a bath. It was a hazard and an adventure all in one involving a tiny, eel like nation with super strength who avoided bathes like he was the plague and soapy water was the cure.

It seemed to work though as Canada stopped trembling and started to whisper something to his twin in a voice like a breeze through reeds. America nodded from time to time, his still expression far too solemn for one so young looking. A conclusion was made soon enough as America popped up, one hand on his hip and the other pointing straight up to the sky. France gave England an inquiring look on the matter, the island nation shaking his head with a roll of eyes in answer. It was just a strange pose America did from time to time, he really had no idea why. England just hoped it was something America would grow out of.

"Don't worry about that! They yell all the time!", America told Canada assuredly, "It's not like they are actually gonna hurt each other.". France caught England's eyes with his own, stormy cerulean blue meeting cool forest green, the two old nations nodding in silent agreement for now.

"I will not say anything if you do not at well.", was promised quietly between them. There was no reason to ruin such purity at the moment. Life and reality would do that soon enough for them so they might as well enjoy the twin's ignorance. It was bliss after all, both to the children and the old bloody nations who got to observe the rarity of it. Innocence was fleeting and extraordinary enough to find in mortals. Its presence in nation was like being able to hold a perfect spider web in your hand, made on the trembling tips of your fingers. One twitch and it would be ruined irreparably forever.

"C'mon, let go play!", America grinned, pulling Canada up by his hand, linking their arms further as he dragged his brother forward. Canada blinked in surprise as America paused in their escape to pat England's leg in greeting, beaming up at the pirate who took the opportunity to sheath his sword with a smooth, long practiced gesture.

Canada shuddered, not understanding how America could love such a frightening person. He much preferred France in his colorful silks and mounds of intricate lace. His older brother's manner was languid and comforting, France putting some sort of thought into every gesture he made so that it was beautiful and elegant.

In direct contrast, England looked too harsh…..too sharp in his salt encrusted leather and stained crimson coat, his wiry body practically bristled with weapons. It wasn't that Canada thought England was ugly. He was just scary with his thin lips that seemed to only snarl and heavy brows that always seemed to furrow darkly in anger and/or contempt. This close to the pirate Canada could smell the metallic scent of blood and sea salt, and the coarseness it made him recoil from the older nation. He wanted to hide behind France again but America's grip upon his arm was unbreakable. Canada tried holding his breathe instead. France always smelled like flowers and sweet spices from the perfumes and oils he preferred and rich red wine left out to decanter. Canada tried to focus on that, hoping that America did not linger too long in England's presence.

"Do not be long or go too far. We will be eating soon.", England said in a surprising gentle tone, one that made Canada look up at him as the older nation leaned in to ruffle America's hair affectionately. Canada found himself staring in wonder at England smile, the expression transforming the older nation's face, softening it its severity. This close he could see how green England's eyes actually were, the spectrum of which he had never realized before. Unbidden, they made him think of the light green colors of leaves unfurling to catch the first drops of spring rain and the dark green colors of paths less taken, overhung and shadowed by gentle sentinels.

With great effort and even greater care, Canada hesitantly reached out to pat at England's leg, his finger no more than just grazing the salt pitted leather of the pirate's boot. He was surprised to find it soft under his touch, especially since nothing said 'soft' about England. Canada was even more surprise by the grace of the fingers that touched the crown of his head, touching him as lightly as he had touched England in return.

"That goes for you as well.", England told Canada, smiling down at him. Despite his earlier feelings, Canada found himself returning the expression, breathing in deeply as he did so. The complex bouquet of heather, mist, and rich earth mixed with rainwater was noticed over the earlier notes of salt and blood now. While it wasn't the same comforting sweet scents of France, it certainly wasn't unpleasant either. Canada found himself jerked out of his contemplation though by an impatient America, who was beginning to wonder why his twin was staring off into space when there were so many interesting things to explore before dinner time.

France watched in despair as Canada was dragged into the wood, just knowing that his dressing gown was doomed. America would probably have them rolling in the puddle of mud he could find just to spite him. A clearing of a throat reminded France that England was still very much here and miracle of miracles, even attempting to be polite.

"Well then, I guess we should get dinner started then.", England said carefully calm in an effort to keep civil with his long time sparring partner.

"We? There is no 'we' in the matter of ze kitchen. You are going to find something else to do, preferable far away from moi and anything that is considered food, and I will go make ze supper.", France snorted, enjoying the sight of England's face going all pinched and red with unconcealed rage.

"Now see here, frog!", England yelled. He found himself addressing France's back though, the nation already walking off towards England's house. France chuckled to himself as more curses were spat at his back in varying versions of the English language, including one form that had fallen out of use about five hundred years ago and only existed on grave markers and lost tomes.

Francis couldn't help but think to himself that this truce of sorts might actually be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

APH-FACE-Ah Memories 2

Cooking

England was not sure why America was under the strange impression that while the older nation embroidered he instantly became deaf and blind to anything that the young nation did. It was true he did not like to be interrupted while working on a project and tended to ignore distractions(i.e. America whining for food and attention out of boredom). However, much to America's deluded misconception, England could acknowledge his surroundings perfectly well. The one at present involved hearing America tell his brother Canada that there were scones in the kitchen that would become readily available to them with the help of a handy chair if they were quiet.

Shaking his head, England set aside the slipcover he had been working on as gently as he could, the plain white cotton decorated with a garden of silken thread in the form of intricate ivy tendrilling across the void. The old nation walked soft footed across the room after the 'sneaking' children, England shaking his head dismally at the very notion of it.

Canada was naturally quiet and would have been able to pull it off. Coupled with the fact that England forgot about him entirely unless accompanied by America or France, Canada could successfully raid the kitchen anytime he pleased. On the other side of the coin, America would not be able to sneak around in the same room with him if it was black as pitch, England was stone blind, and America was invisible. The child just radiated his presence, even while sitting still(which was a rare thing) or sleeping, his energy coming off in almost tangible waves that made one's skin prickle. Right now, it was all focused on getting to the kitchen and eating way too many scones without permission before dinner time.

"You'll like scones! England makes the best", made said maker of scones pause, hanging back just a bit from the snack seeking tots. As predicted, America moved a chair to aid in his reach. England gave him some credit in the subterfuge department for actually picking it up off the floor instead of dragging it and making noise to give himself away(and marking up his clean floors).

"Um, but Papa said I should not eat anything England makes….ever.", Canada worried his bottom lip as he twisted his hands in the hem of his dressing gown. England bit his own lip, hard, to keep from saying anything or reacting, even as his face grew hot and red with a certain culinary rage.

"Francey-Pants eats snails. Scones are better.", America rolled his eyes, feeling his proof on the matter was sufficient to prove his point. Not to be the pot calling the kettle black, America admitted to himself that he had eaten snails as well(he was curious and a little boy) and personally, he didn't see what the fuss was about. Snails were not that tasty.

"Non, Papa said not to, no matter what. He says bad things happen, very bad things.", Canada shook his head. France had been quite firm on this matter, passionate in fact with lots of words Canada didn't understand and many hand gestures of irritable flapping. "And snails are nice.", he added defensively as an afterthought, though he wasn't sure what point America had been trying to make or even what he was defending.

America stomped his foot, which made the chair creak worriedly, placing his little hands on his hips. "What bad things? I eat England's cooking all the time and nothing bad ever happens to me!", America glared down at his twin who was looking at him over carefully. "France doesn't know nothing."

England's teeth gritted at the use of double negatives even as his heart grew warm at the American's words. He would let the grammatical blunder slide for now. It was for a good cause.

Canada winced at it himself, reflecting that English was his second language and he spoke it better than his twin. He also thought France definitely knew what he was talking about especially when that something looked like a burned rock and was being shoved into his face. "What is that?", Canada asked, eyeing the lump of charred whatever that was being presented to him.

"It's a scone, dummy.", America said in exasperation, watching as Canada took his own gingerly as if the baked good was going to jump up and bite him.

"And you want me to eat it?", Canada tried desperately to put off the inevitable. The scone felt uncomfortably heavy in his hands, like it was made out of lead instead of fluffy flour.

"What else are you supposed to do with it?", America gave him a strange look, biting into his scone.

Canada mused to himself that one could probably made a road out of the scones, using them like cobblestones, but he kept that observation to himself. He watched in amazement as America happily ate his scone with no apparent ill effect. "Maybe it tastes better than it looks?", Canada mused, turning the scone around in his hands as if looking for a good starting point. There were none. Shrugging, Canada took a deep breath and raised the scone to his lips.

The scone went airborne before it could make touchdown, Canada looking up in surprise at the very serious French nation who had appeared from no where.

"I step outside for one moment for some fresh air and when I come back, I find you trying to kill yourself. Ma petite, there are far less painful ways to end your life.", France sighed, gathering the Canadian up in his arms to pat his head in a comforting manner. "I do not know what could have made you want to seek the afterlife but Papa will make it all better.", France soothed. Canada felt vaguely confused.

"My cooking is not that bad!", England snapped, stepping out of the shadow he had been hiding in to observe the twins. America quickly ate the rest of his stolen scone to hide the evidence. England ignored him in favor of yelling at the French nation who turned on his host.

"YOU!", France shouted back, "You were there the entire time and was going to let my sweet little Canada poison himself!? That is low even for you rosbif! He is only an innocent child!".

While the pair argued, America located Canada's wayward scone, picking it off of the floor to dust it off on his gown, leaving a dark charcoal mark upon it. "This batch is pretty good.", he said conversationally, nomming into the scone. France watched him with an expression that was a unique mixture of despair and horror with a dash of revulsion mixed in for flavor. In direct contrast to his counterpart, England beamed, nodding along to America's wise words.

"You poor, deluded child.", France pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes to shield himself from the horror show that was being masticated in front of him. On further thought, he chose to cover Canada's eyes instead. Canada remained confused. Inspiration struck though, France's eyes snapping open with renewed fire. "I will show you the error of your keeper's ways!", France crowed gleefully, setting Canada down to pounce upon England's kitchen. The three nations watched in amazement as France worked his culinary magic in a matter of minutes. America soon found himself presented with a small cone shaped pyramid made entirely of small ball shaped pastries, held together with delicate strands of caramel and dusted with powered sugar. England died a little inside at the sight of the elegant dessert, misery edging into the recesses of his soul.

"What is it?", America asked warily. It smelled good but it looked too pretty to eat. It looked like something he would get in trouble for touching actually.

"Croquembouche.", France said proudly. He already knew each chocolate cream filled profiterole was going to be perfection itself upon the tongue. A quick glance at England said he knew it too, the island nation sweating bullets and looked miserable.

"Huh?", was America's answer, the little nation edging away from France. It wasn't that he disliked France. America just didn't care about him, barely spared him a thought unless provoked. France did and said some strange things that could be amusing and/or confusing from time to time, but other than that, drew very little of America's notice, no more than a colorful piece of furniture would. Most of his attention was spent on England and the rest playing with Canada. France being there was merely a byproduct of the other too.

"Just eat it.", France sighed, "Your taste buds will love and thank you for it."

"Why should I let him eat your rubbish when you will not even let Canada try mine?", England interrupted, hoping to distract. He knew it was a futile effort. Hell, even he wanted to eat the damn pastries, the scents of vanilla, caramel, and chocolate a siren's song for the nose. England dry swallowed against the tantalizing odor, trying to ignore the urge. He knew France's skills in that department were superior but what if America found out as well? Would he want to stop being England's little brother?

"I believe that we should let America decide….unless you are afraid.", France tormented, a smirk growing upon his lips to taunt the other nation. America would taste his food this time round and admit freely that France was the superior nation. The victory over England that should have been his to begin with would be even sweeter than the croquembouche.

Ready to press his advantage further, France looked down to find all of the pastries gone. Two little nation with very sticky fingers remained, Canada somehow managing to get caramel in his hair while America's face look liked a chocolate bomb had gone off right in front of it. "Zo, what do you think?", France purred, feeling beyond smug as he ignored the mess that looked up at him.

"It was alright.", America answered causing the French nation's jaw to drop like a stone.

"A-alright?!", France stuttered out in his surprised shock. It was worsened by England's snickering, the island nation starting to double up in his mirth.  
France swallowed the stream of curses that begged to be released from his lip, forming them into actual words, "America, what do you mean it was merely 'alright'? Was it not excellence executed in flour and sugar? Did it not sing beauty to your soul? Do you not feel the touch of the divine upon your tongue?".

"Ummmm, no?", America shrugged. France was being weird again in his opinion.

"But it was better than England's, oui?", France would settle for that.

"No….", America said, tilted his head to the side in curiosity as France fell over himself for some odd reason, "….it was just different. England, can I have another scone?".

"Yes, poppet. Have as many as you like.", England grinned wide, preening as he handed America his baked good with a grand gesture just to make France twitch. The amorous nation was having a private moment on the floor, processing what had just happened to him. America broke it in half, the noise very un-scone like, more akin to ice breaking up in a lake type noise, the child handed the other half to his twin, who took it warily.

"France's ball things were fine but too light. You'll just keep eating it", America explained, "Now England's cooking you are gonna feel it. You eat some of these and you'll know it.". France recovered some of his sanity with those words, the nation perking up enough to give England a significant look. England had the decency to blanch under it, his aura of accomplishment slipping at the edges as America continued with his musing. "Best part, they're different every time England makes them. Sometimes they're extra crunchy and other times they had this liquid center…"

"Naptime! It's naptime!", England said loudly over what America was going to say next. It had been enough to help France off of the floor though, the nation rescuing Canada from his scone fate as he removed the bake good from his charge once again to fling over his shoulder. America ran after it and away from nations who threatened naps, shoving his half into his mouth for safe keeping. Scooping the scone up, America kept running, England giving chase when he realized that the child had not intention of dozing.

France shook his head as he picked Canada up, the tiny nation yawning. At least one of the twins was agreeable to the concept of naps. "I believe we shall agree to disagree on this matter. Angleterre has obviously ruined your brother for the nicer things in life.", France snorted in disgust, "I can not be held responsible for his shortcomings."

Canada nodded sagely in reply, yawning again. He didn't care either way. Canada thought they were all ridiculous.


	3. Chapter 3

-  
The Talk

France glared as the rain pelted the thick witch glass of the window, ignoring the collected works of Shakespeare in his lap. It was not his ideal choice for entertainment, but it was the only reading material that he could find or more accurately the only reading material England would let him find in the house. Even then it was only the Bard's most dramatic and thoroughly depressing plays(he doubted that Scotland approved of 'The Play That Must Not Be Named') and not some of his light pretty sonnets or even his whimsical Midsummer's Night. France would love a Puck right about now to lighten his mood. He sighed, leaving puffs of condensation on the frigid warped glass and supposed it could be worse. France had personally been dreading a day like today, with iron gray skies and rain coming down so heavy and thick it looked solid. He had been half expected a tantrum from America at the first hint of house arrest and a constant stream of profanities from England in reaction to it.

Instead, England had simply nodded at the state of the weather and gone about his business of ruining breakfast, mentioning to the twins in passing that they would be spending the day inside. To France's surprise, America had agreed and much more, looked excited about it, whispering to his twin all through breakfast. The meal had taken longer than normal of course. France had let England humiliate himself first before taking over completely to produce crepes so light and airy angels could have slept on them.

The anticipation from the little ones only grew afterward now that Canada was involved as the little ones waited near breathless and danced impatiently from foot to foot for the older nations to finish cleaning up. France found himself just as curious as he dried the last of the dishes, America's excitement contagious to all except England who looked utterly calm. France refused to ask him what was going on just on principle but stuck close as England led the little ones out of the kitchen and to the largest sitting room of the house, the twins following after him like little ducklings.

There, England started to unlock several large chests that France had never really noticed before. He considered most, if not all, of England's furniture boringly functional. France was surprised at what was pulled from them and in such great amount.

Upon their arrival some time ago for this experimental visit, France had thought it was odd that America didn't have any toys. He knew England was callous but the rosbif seemed to have a genuine soft spot of the new nation. With the exception of a pink stuffed bunny that America took to bed with him, the little nation appeared to have no other toys.

Until now…..

Blocks and balls of all sizes and colors followed a small army of stuffed animals in every species imaginable (with more than a few unicorns France noted in the mix and even a dragon or two) onto the floor. Costumes, all the twin's size and in amazing detail, were shaken out and checked for tears and other damages associated with America's play and acts of heroism. Thick sheaves of heavy paper were straightened out and weighted down with sticks of charcoal, paints, and brushes. Books, hefty leather bound tomes full of pictures, were reverently taken out and set aside for later in the evening. Hand puppets, toy soldiers, and even a miniature tea set were produced as well along with an assortment of large fluffy blanket and many a soft cushion, the masonry for a pillow fort. After everything was sorted and set out, England simply told the children to stay in the room and try to keep it down to a dull roar before leaving for the adjoining parlor, shutting the door behind him but leaving it open just enough to hear what was going on.

France followed to find the island nation already set up by the fire in a comfortable chair with a book within reach, and his embroidery basket and project set out. Accompanied by a full pot of tea, it was obvious that England was planned for the day as well, leaving France with nothing to do. A vicious smirk on England's lips confirmed this notion as he otherwise pointedly ignored France in favor of his book, tea, and subjective silence.

Sleeping through the day had turned out to be useless. The rain was too noisy and England's house too small to fully muffle the sound of it. France longed for the seemingly endless rooms of Versailles where he could have hid from the pitter patter of raindrop under art, music, and charming company.

Speaking of charming company, there was none to be found here at least in France's opinion. Conversation was out. England stuck to uninterested monosyllables when asked any questions and flat out ignored insults in favor of the printed word or his cross stitch. France chalked it up to an unfair advantage of dealing with this sort of weather. England wasn't exactly known for its sunshine or arid state after all.

The insults that danced on the end of France's tongue curled up and dead sooner than he would of liked as the amorous nation studied his island neighbor. England was near professional at beginning alone. While it had its obvious downsides, it also meant that England was very good at entertaining himself. He worked with a focus on his embroidery that bordered on the obsessive as an entire garden started to emerge on the face of the plain sheet of cotton. France had no idea what he was making but it hardly mattered at this point. England was obviously pleased and placated and that was enough to irk France into a full out sulk.

Faced with a lack of options, France was left with pouting over Shakespeare and glaring at the unfeeling rain until some problematic words floated through the crack in the door.

"So do you know what is llama?", England and France heard America ask Canada. France knew the other nation was listening because England paused mid stitch in curious confusion.

"Llama?" Canada asked back, his tone bespoke his confusion as he stretched out the word to make it take foot hold in his mind. The little nation took a mental leap with it from there, "Do you mean l'amour? Cause one is an animal and the other is a feeling…kinda."

"Yeah, no, maybe, huh?", America mouth vomited words, confirming France's suspicions about his intellect. In his opinion, Canada was obviously the brighter of the two, "Um, it's the thing that Francey Pants is always going on about.". France rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nick name America had forced upon him. Apparently, it blew some part of America's tiny mind that France's country name and human title were so similar in composition that he needed to make up his own way of addressing the older nation. It didn't help either that England snickered just about every time he heard it, much like he was doing now. France shot him a glare, but leaned toward the conversation. Nations were horrible snoops and gossips.

"That's l'amour. What about it?", Canada sounded miffed. A soft sound of clothe rustling hinted a shrug from the quiet twin.

"Well, what is it?", America was tenacious. Whenever he encountered a subject he took an interest in, he was the kind of being that had to know everything about it before he was satisfied. "You said it was a kinda feeling but it seems to upset England whenever Francey Pants says it.".

Ah, the heart of the matter, France decided. America was sensitive to England's likes and dislikes, sometimes overly so. There was still a deep hole out in the front yard from where America had effortlessly uprooted a fully grown oak with his bare hands simply because England had commented he would have prefered it in the back yard to give shade to his roses. France risked looking over at England to find the other nation glaring at him. Feigning a smirk to cover his worry, France turned his attention back to the children's conversation, paying close attention to it. He certainly didn't want America to get it into his head that France was a threat to England that needed to be dealt with. He was, but the super strong baby nation didn't need to know that and France liked where his kneecaps were.

Apparently Canada felt the same way about it too because the tone he spoke in next was deliberately soothing. "It's a good thing really. You do it with other people. Sometimes a lot of other people.". A gasp from England made France drag a slow heavy hand down his face. He could feel England's look of instant death drilling into the back of his head. "This is not going to end well.", France thought warily to himself.

Murder made mortal came in the form of a taunt hand gripping the back of France's head as acid green eyes burned down upon him like fiery hail. "You told him! About…it!", England hissed, the sound like a blade being freed from its sheath. France hadn't even heard him move across the room from his spot by the fire.

"Of course not!", France snapped back, keeping his voice low. No need to alert or trouble the little ones with unnecessary violence. No one was bleeding…yet. "He just kind of…sort of…..maybe walked in on me when someone was visiting, once or twice. I mean who really remembers these things?".

"Such as locking doors, you depraved git!", England seethed. The rest of his soft tirade was cut off though by the sound of young voices again. France didn't know whether to be grateful for it or fear for the worst.

"A lot of people? How many? I don't want to share.", America was starting to sound cross, something that made England gentle his hold on France's silken locks and lean forward. There was a pause which turned out to be Canada counting slowly on his toes, an odd quirk on the young one's part.

"Four…..no, five.", Canada confirmed. England's tight hold was replaced with a chokingly tight head lock.

"F-five!", England sputtered in rage, ignoring the hands that slapped futilely against his taunt arm.

"A misunderstanding! Spain came to visit and brought his entourage with him. Things got out of hand!", France managed to gasp out. He somehow twisted in the grip just enough to free himself, the two nations falling over each other in the ensuing struggle.

"I'll show you out of hand!", England yelled, forgetting about little curious ears. A small noise made both nations look up, caught mid act of attempted murder. France lay on the floor with his arms flung over his head and England right above him, his fist drawn back and his other hand on the amorous nation's throat. France risked a glance from the enquiring eyes to look up at England who was clearly trying to think up a plausible story of non violence for the two. Canada beat him to the punch.

"It kind of looks like that but with less clothing.", Canada said placidly, pointing at the older nations. While England's face took on shades of red France didn't even think was physically possible until now, America studied them with a thoughtful look.

"Ohhhhh, I get it. L'amore is husbandry.", America shrugged before turning back to his brother, "Why didn't you just say that instead of making up weird words for it?". Canada's young brow crinkled under the onslaught of thoughts he was having involving his twin and various points of his intelligence and powers of observation. Reading the atmosphere was obviously not going to be one of America's fortes. Through extreme will and self effort, Canada let it go, hinting to a wisdom that France had thought was years away in the making. It appeared America brought out hidden qualities in others without even meaning to.

"I thought you had a game that you wanted to show me.", Canada answered diplomatically. Luckily for everyone involved, America's short attention span held true to form, the little nation instantly brightening as he dragged Canada back into the room. For his act of merciful kindness, Canada was made a dragon thus proving that no good deed goes unpunished.

On his part, France spent the rest of the day torturing a critically mortified England who curled up in the corner under his own personal rain cloud, looking ready to die from terminal embarrassment. All in all, France considered it a day well spent.


End file.
